LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

- F3 i 7 O "h 

Chap» Copyright No.. 



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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



THE OLD MANSION •!• •§• 
•!• -f* AND OTHER POEMS 

MRS. SOPHIA GRAVES FOXWORTH 













BUFFALO ^ THE PETER PAUL BOOK 
COMPANY ,^420 MAIN STREET^ J896 



\z;";^ 



.F3B 



Copyright, 1896, 

.. BY .. 

Mrs. Sophia Graves Foxworth. 



PRINTED AND BOUND BY 

THE PETER PAUL BOOK COMPANY, 

BUFFALO, N. Y. 



TO 

MY DAUGHTERS, 
NANNIE, OIZELLA AND BELLE 
THIS BOOK 
IS LO VINGL Y DEDICA TED. 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Voices of the South 9 

Solitude ii 

To Deity 12 

Winter Morn Reverie 14 

The Mystic Life 16 

Prisoned Life 17 

In Winter 19 

The Mockingbird 20 

Evening 21 

Woodland Pleasures 23 

Wild Rose 25 

Wait, Rejoicing 26 

The Old Mansion 27 

The Southern Chief 32 

In Memoriam 35 

Sorrow 37 

Whatever Is, Is Right 38 

Whittier's Death 39 

Your Neighbor's Glasses 40 

A Criticism 41 

The Magic TvIirror 43 

Melancholia 49 

The Repining Daisy 51 

The Whip-Poor-VVill 53 



vi CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The Woodsprite's Song 54 

My Queen 56 

Fanny Lou's Lovers 57 

A Draem of Love 64 

The First Quarrel 66 

The Freaks of Cupid 69 

An Angel Seeming 71 

The Little Palace 74 

Pleasure's Defense 76 

Farewell, Ye Shades 77 

Sweet Vacation Time 79 

Fear 81 

The Fall of the Year 82 

Reason 85 

A Requiem 84 

A Song at Even 85 

Concession 86 

The Forget-Me-Not 87 

Little Scott 88 

Death of Little Marion 90 

Seek Me Early 91 

The Savage Man 92 

Examination Day 93 

The Slave of Gold 96 

The Foulest Foe 97 

Tease Not Your Muse 97 

My Pegasus 98 

Mother 100 



PREFACE. 

Like fledglings seeking freer skies. 
Sweet tender thoughts will yearning rise^- 
Too weak, some feebly flutt' ring fall, 
While others, strong er^ bouyant soar ; 
In genial climes live evermore. 
Then blam^e us not if we offend — 
We cannot keep what oft we send 
Upon the world its fate to meet, 
A bitter death or life more sweet. 



VOICES OF THE SOUTH. 

AND now from warmer skies of June 
The season circles round 
To mild October's cooler noon 
And glees of sweeter sound. 

The cotton-picker's cheerful song 

Is borne upon the breeze 
As he his burden bears along 

To rest beneath the trees. 

We hear the whistling farmer boy 

A-hauling in the corn, 
His manly heart is full of joy, 

That rich nor great may scorn. 

And children's voices, too, we hear. 

A-hunting in the wood. 
To catch the nuts a-falling near, 

They run in merry mood. 

Along the fence-row, passing near 
Some boy or gray-haired sire, 

The partridge, now, in covej^s whir 
When startled from the brier. 



THE OLD MANSION 

The goldenrod yet proudly sways 

In all the hedges round, 
And saucily with frost-king plays 

That comes a monarch crowned. 

And still in garden beds doth bloom 

The pretty autumn flowers, 
The zinnias bright and prince's plume 

That well might grace the summer's bowers. 

The mockbird doth no sweeter trill 

When sweet June roses blow. 
Nor crickets chirrup on the hill 

When summer's sun's aglow. 

Of all — the sweetest, noblest song — 

That weary heart doth cheer 
Is, aid the right suppress the wrong 

That rings out strong and clear. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 



SOLITUDE. 

I LOVE the still, secluded wood 
Where violets peep from moss and mold, 
I love the wood where none intrude 
To break the sweet, deep solitude. 
'Tis here my spirit's sweet commune 
To songs of praise my lips attune. 
Here must I feel God's presence nigh, 
'Tis here that sordid wishes die. 

Of earth's vain show, no phantom false 
My eye surveys. Here all is true — 
Each shining leaf a volume speaks 
Of truth some soul in secret seeks. 
As fresh as those that saw the light 
First dawn upon primeval night. 
These witnesses that sing His praise. 
And their divinest worship raise. 

Than Nature's harp none sweeter lulls. 
While list'ning to her melodies 
My cares remove, my troubles thin, 
And drinking fragrant freshness in 
Delights, but leaves no feverish glow ; 
More vig'rous purpose doth bestow. 
Then be this wood thy sacred shrine 
Thy sweet retreat— O soul of mine. 



THE OLD MANSION 

Why should I boast of meaner joys 
Whose thrills ecstatic, leave a pain, 
While pristine glories here entwine 
To please and yet the mind refine. 
A sweeter rest this moss-grown stone 
Than oft a monarch's gilded throne. 
Then why these milder joys decline 
That breathe of peace and love divine. 

Yet in the busy world's turmoil 

To me a message oft is borne, 

'Tis gently borne on faith's bright wings. 

And sweetest peace to me it brings, 

'Tis oft in times of deep distress, 

While thoughtless crowds around me press. 

It speaks, oh, softer than a sigh — 

** Be not afraid — I'm ever nigh." 



TO DEITY. 

OTHOU Eternal Uncreate ! 
Who can Thy mysteries penetrate ? 
Thy source. Thyself, Thou Great First Cause, 
Who naught doth know but Nature's laws, 
The thought doth fill with trembling awe. 
Thy being no beginning knows — 
No time nor day doth mark its close. 
Thou art the great I Am. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 13 

Thy empire mind, a boundless realm — 
To Thee no past, no future comes ; 
To Thee, all things doth present stand, 
First pulse of life ; last ebbing sand. 
Exponent of Thy thought, the glowing 
Firmaments praise Thy wondrous skill 
As in smooth and easy motion 
The rolling spheres their circles fill. 

Through space Thy sovereignty doth rule ! 
Warring elements that boistrous shake 
The earth whose fabric from its base 
Doth quake — Thy voice their rage doth cool. 
In all form, from heaven's unsealed height. 
To all depth, Thy essence doth pervade, 
All life, inflowing of Thyself, 
Doth pulse and throb instinct with Thee ! 

And Thou so near and yet so far, 

The sin-dimmed vision of the soul 

Too weak this veil of flesh to pierce 

That from Thee doth Thy creatures bar. 

But oh, in blessed hope we live 

That what we've lost one day Thou'lt give ; 

To us Thy image will restore ; 

Then freed from sin forever more 

E'en as at first when man was pure. 

With Thee our God shall sweet commune. 



14 THE OLD MANSION 



A WINTER MORN REVERIE. 

THIS rimey morn how calm, how cold, the world 
doth seem ; 
In hoary sheen, dead weeds and grasses now doth 

gleam — 
To creatures' tread the frozen earth metallic rings ; 
In frosted fret-work seen, are wreaths and fairy 

things — 
With folded wing, and mute, a mockbird sits 

alone 
Upon a rose tree's branch that from its stem is torn 
The last rose that breathed of summer's sweeter 

morn ; 
Sits like some widow lone, who sees her joys are 

gone — 
Her spirit's happy bourn ; her hope, her only 

one — 
While flocking from the plum trees in the orchard 

bare, 
The little sparrows chirp, "We ate our breakfast 

there." 



The leaves that blushed at autumn's breath, now, 

shriveled lie 
Together mold'ring. bound by winter's icy tie. 
What life-reviving, vernal morn siiall bid them rise 
Up from their lowly beds in some more glorious 

guise ? 



AND OTHER POEMS. 15 

There lies within some hope that potent springs 

from death, 
That yet majestic crowned, in flower or sheaf will 

glow. 
To us this germ immortal clings. By faith we 

know 
Of what shall be ; for none hath seen save Him 

who saith, 
" No more of fears, no more of sorrow's tears or 

death, 
For in my Father's house are many mansions fair — 
I go a place for them that love Me to prepare." 

Now high above the fiery battlement of day, 

The sun with fervid kiss doth chase the frosts 

away — 
Along the hills, now murmurs soft as lovers' sighs 
Seem nearer, clearer as the gentle breezes rise — 
And things, so late, that seeming lay in death's 

embrace. 
Now stir and move, and, now, on life new lease 

begin. 
In ceaseless motion, here and there, and out and 

in. 
Or keep in line of march, with never-flagging pace, 
To mart or meed their race, to some accustomed 

place. 
Thus life in great or small, keeps one continuous 

round 
Always doing ; hoping to be with blessing crowned. 



i6 THE OLD MANSION 



THE MYSTIC LIFE. 

THE strangest thing to man is man himself. 
That man knows not himself is passing 
strange ! 
The soul, whose spark ethereal ever burns, 
Medium intangible, of good or ill, 
Communicates with adverse worlds opposed ; 
Unfettered, roams interminable space, 
A measurer of woe or joy as well. 
And still within its clayey mansion dwells. 
And loves, and hates, rejoices, grieves, and hopes. 
Mysterious sympathy which binds the soul 
To soul congenial, like antipodal 
Magnets, which turn to their affinities, 
And find in counterpart a life complete. 
A language stronger felt than lips express, 
On mystic currents borne, soul speaks to soul, 
Then warms, expands the flow of rarer wealth, 
And gold for gold each to the other gives — 

Spirit with clay in closest union blent, 
Who can the line of separation mark ? 
What knowledge can this mystic life define ? 
When weeps the one the other moans and sighs ; 
When strong and buoyant soars, the other sings. 
How changed its loveliness ! lost every charm ! 
When to the Fount of Life the soul reflows. 
The Life that graced this earthly tenement ; 
But sacred dust ! 'twas soul's embodiment. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 17 



PRISONED LIFE. 

WHEN spring, sweet merry sprite is near, 
Stern winter hies through very fear — 
Her silv'ry wand doth touch the snow, 
It melts. The ice-bound rivers flow. 
The silent plain, the sleeping vale. 
Her spicy breath upon the gale 
Warms unto life and bloom again — 
From out the hedge or brier creeps 
The speckled snake that torpid sleeps 
Till leaf and spray adorn the bowers 
That naked stood thro' winter hours. 
Among the green and tender leaves 
His subtle web, the spider weaves 
And skillful throws the silken net 
On some unwary victim set. 

Orchard trees their wealth revealing. 

Busy bees their sweets are stealing ; 

All day with unremitting toil 

They fill their homes with richest spoil — 

Upon her flowery lap at even 

The pale light falls from gems of heaven, 

While plaintive notes from whip-poor-will 

The heart with sweet sad memories fill. 

The mockbird wakes the early morn 

And softly trills in bush or thorn 

His love-impassioned lay to one 

That patient waits, and trusts to none 

The little nest that's just begun. 



i8 THE OLD MANSION 

The, now, emancipated serf, 
With merry whistle, turns the turf — 
In furrows fresh, he drops the com ; 
In genial dews, the blade is born. 

While all with life and beauty teem, 

And bask in nature's cheering beam, 

Thy icy fetters, prisoned soul, 

What warmth can thaw ? what power break ? 

Enchained in blackness of despair, 

What ray can penetrate thy gloom ? 

In vain, no voice spring wakes in thee, 

To utter in responsive strain 

The song of birds or flowing stream ; 

No ripple of the spicy breeze 

Can stir thy frozen currents sealed. 

No sound save ravings mad within ; 

No light except a lurid glare 

That wildly gleams in maniac stare — 

Conglomerate sorrows on thee rest, 

And press the life from out thy breast. 



Ah, there is One hath power to save, 
E'en He who stilled the stormy wave — 
His precious love gives full release, 
He heals our wounds and dries our tears — 
His presence drives away our gloom 
And winter's chill or summer's bloom 
Alike our souls with music fills. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 19 



IN WINTER. 

IN peaceful sleep lies mother Earth, 
Her children now have ceased their mirth, 
The birds' entrancing music fails ; 
No busy hum the ear regales — 
Among the rocks and hills and dales 
Unwonted silence now prevails. 
Above her covering brown and sear, 
The low-hung clouds look cold and drear, 
And dimly burns the yellow ray 
That faintly gilds the banks of gray. 
Like sent'nels stand the gloomy pines ; 
Their proud crests rise in wavy lines. 
Weird music make these dark-plumed pines ; 
Their deep-toned bass the ear refines, 
To me a solemn measure winds. 
That stirs my soul, and wondrous binds 
Me while they sing, now low and clear, 
Sad requiems for the dying year. 
In vain we seek for summer's gold 
In bleak December's sleet and cold. 
Yet greet us still the murm'ring rills 
That flow adown the wooded hills — 
Their sloping borders fringed with green 
Remind us of sweet summer's scene. 

There are dear friends I call to mind 
That like these rills continue kind — 
In winter's cold, in winter's dearth, 



3 THE OLD MANSION 

I know and feel their real worth — 
On pleasure's lawn, in sorrow's vale, 
Their faithful love doth never fail. 



THE MOCKINGBIRD. 

IN sober gray his figure trim, 
Is saucy mockbird sitting prim, 
His musicale to begin, 
With none to aid, not e'en the wren. 
Of Southern songsters sweetest, 
A mimic, too, completest, 
In notes he warbles oftest. 
Begins his solo softest. 
He spreads his feathers, shakes his head. 
Then mimics blackbird and the red — 
As his music then advances, 
Me, he almost then entrances 
A-singing songs without the words, 
A-mocking all the other birds — 

His artful imitation 

Precludes all limitation. 
The partridge whistles at his will, 
The pewit's chirp preludes his trill. 
And blends with songs which deftly fill 
A whole orchestra most unique. 
That any amateur would seek. 
But then he is the dearest 
On moonlight nights when nearest. 
He 's cozy perched among the vines, 
A-singing songs without the lines. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 



EVENING. 

I WALKED in twilight's stilly hour 
When Nature sits with folded hands. 
I looked on shadowy tree and tower, 

On gurgling fount and golden sands 
And mossy rocks green and gray, 

And tangled wreaths the ivy bound 
And creeping kept its clambering way 
And every crag and crevice found. 



And from the vaulted blue above. 

The crescent moon then pendent swung. 
Like glances first of early love 

The stars their light in dalliance flung 
Upon the gentle primrose pale 

That lately from the earth had sprung, 
To leave the sweetness in the vale 

That once around its petals clung. 



The katy-dids from sleep awoke, 

Their nightly chorus then begun, 
And all the solemn stillness broke. 

That reigned supreme since set of sun. 
And swift from some deep valley's shade, 

The whip-poor-will now winged its flight, 
With plaintive notes, it vocal made 

The lonely hours till morning light. 



THE OLD MANSION 

'Tis in sweet Nature's calmer mood 
That mere existence is delight, 

Like some sweet maid in lovely snood 
She moves upon a tranquil night ; 

O'er mountain top, through wooded glen, 
And casts a beauty all serene 

O'er woodland wilds, and haunts of men. 

O'er all the world her scepter sweeps, 

And captive led by her sweet will, 
The day-inspired action sleeps ; 

And cares her wondrous powers still. 
O blissful rest ! this magic thrall, 

That strength renews for wasting noon 
Whose toils begin with morning call. 

And only cease when comes this boon. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 23 



WOODLAND PLEASURES. 

IN gray cathedral's fretted domes, 
May anthems swell of loudest praise, 
And glitt'ring on their gilded spires, 
The sunbeams gleam in lambent fires. 
Yet sight nor sound of city's pride, 
Me from these pleasures here divide ; 
These gnarled roots, fantastic seat. 
And purling brook with music sweet, 
And carpet spread of mossy fold, 
In rich mosaic green and gold — 
And pitcher plants that sit upright. 
And brilliant butterflies invite 
To rest their wings of changeful hue, 
And sip their fill of nectar dew. 
Here wild bee scents the fragrant rose 
That all untrained luxuriant grows ; 
And fans me here the feathery fern 
More beauteous than in richest urn. 

Here close to Nature, kindest nurse, 
We feel the genial glow of health, 
Supplied by airs that purer blow. 
The crimson current's steady flow ; 
Cooled by her breath, the fevered brain 
Its wonted vigor doth regain. 
From wooded dells sweet sounds arise 
When Eos wakes and 'lumes the skies 



24 THE OLD MANSION 

Whose cloudless blue sets me a dream 
Of peaceful joys and calm supreme. 
Oft breaks the stillness of the morn, 
The hunter's merry winding horn. 
He keeps the chase the livelong day 
Nor from his fellows takes his way 
Till tinkling bells tell of the hour 
When restful sleeps the woodland bower, 
And homeward turned, the browzing kine 
Move slowly on in broken line. 

No courtesies are paid by rule ; 
No blandishments, but to deceive. 
Here Liberty sits all enthroned. 
The freedom of her court untoned 
To Fashion's arbitrary laws, 
That men condemn for petty flaws. 
They pleasure take in rightful use 
Nor fear disdain or pride's abuse. 
Along the sunny slope he guides 
His plow, the laboring swain, and chides 
His plodding beast, and hums anon 
A simple lay, and thinks of one 
Who stole, at church, his heart away 
When he on Sunday went to pray. 
Of all forgetful but the fair. 
He drops the plow with careless air. 
O Love, you bind with magic spell 
The gentle bred or clown as well ! 

To learning, seems insipid dull. 
The unsophisticated mind, 
But all concede the biggest fool 
Oft found in psychologic school. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 25 

His argument is wind and rant 
No more endured than silly cant ; 
Convinces none but little brain 
Who takes the noise for logic plain. 
No pageant here to Nature's God, 
But truths we read in verdant sod. 
Who truly seeks in earnest prayer, 
Opes Wisdom's page divinely fair, 
And how can we forgetful be 
Of Him who makes His gifts so free ! 
The sun that lights the monarch's dome 
As brightly shines on cotter's home, 
And blest with peace a king has not 
More oft contentment is his lot. 



WILD ROSE. 

SWEET simple flower, that in the wildwood 
grows 
Far from the crowd thy pale pink petal glows ! 
Content a barren rock to grace. 
If that appointed, were thy place ; 
Thy fragrance shed, perfumes the dells, 
Of peace, thy life serenely tells. 

Thy sweet content, O could this heart possess ; 
Replete, would rid me of my loneliness. 

There is a power I know forefends, 

My changes all his care attends ; 

My pleasures should the same be found, 

My joy in solitude abound. 



26 THE OLD MANSION 



WAIT, REJOICING. 

OWHEN the wine of life is drained, 
• We throw the empty cup away, 
And solemn wait the closing day ! 

But what are years to thee, my soul ! 
For thou art never young or old ; 
Thou livest — thy days are never told. 

Why seek to revel on the earth ? 
For base-born pleasures ever sigh ? 
Thy springs of joy are never dry. 

Thou in the Great Eternal Arms 
Shalt happy be in all thy stages, 
As onward roll the endless ages. 

Then thoughtful sit with radiant brow ; 
Thy empty cup with nectar fill, 
And wait thou now, rejoicing still. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 27 



THE OLD MANSION. 

I chanced upon a moldring mansion gray, 
The doors from rusted hinges dropped away, 
And brier and weed upon the threshold crept, 
That once some careful housewife neatly kept. 

And draperies from the spider's loom were hung 
Upon the somber walls that shadows flung 
More weird as waned the sun in sickly rays 
That struggled in through chinks and broken ways. 

Now frighted half, I heard with dismal dread, 
The sounds that were my own light tread. 
There was the broken hearthstone gray and cold, 
I sat and thought, how changed from days of old ! 

From years long gone when social made the night, 
The cheerful blaze that glowed with ruddy light ; 
Where high-bred mirth made music in those years, 
These cold dark stones not e'en a cricket cheers. 

The stone in answering voice, then plainly said, 
" When I was fresh a happy life I led ; 
For then I was the housemaid's special care, 
Who ne'er forgot my polish to prepare. 

" By young and old was dearly cherished too, 
Tho' great French Brasses oft would parleyvoo, 
And scornful look on me with sneering smile 
When danced the firelight o'er my polished tile. 



28 THE OLD MANSION 

*' The great their secrets told, and tears have wept ; 
And all from others hid, I've faithful kept, 
Though shrunk by age, deserted, cold and thin, 
A pleasure 'tis to know what once I've been. 

"November's morn, what charm around it dwells ! 
I'll ne'er forget the chime of wedding bells, 
Enwreathing columned arch of brightest sheen. 
Were sweet crysanthemums and evergreen. 

"To hall so gay the bridal party came, 
With cordial welcome from the courtly dame 
Who met with mother's love the fair young bride, 
Whose wealth und beauty drew the country-side. 

"The feast was spread in silver plate and gold, 
And sparkled wine in goblets quaint and old ; 
And servants went at beck and call 
Who gaily thought of their next Christmas ball. 

" And great their pride in all this grand display. 
Their master kind, a table spread that day. 
That they his wedding feast might largely share. 
And bless the day that brought a bride so fair. 

"As pass the guests, a gayly chattering throng, 
The servent-maid's shy glances steal along, 
At ladies' dresses, jewels, ribbons, lace, 
And skillful, criticise each form and face. 

" But loudest praises lavished on the bride 
Who soon had won their hearts and was their pride. 
While partial Nature was to her benign, 
Art's patrons paid for graces less divine. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 29 

" Now turn the guests to find some witty wight, 
To toast her charms in many a beaker bright. 
A suitor old took up the brimming urn, 
His words of praise with old devotion burn. 

" But later many a crimson goblet deep. 
His warmest thought in Lethe left to sleep ; 
And healed the bleeding wound of Cupid's dart, 
As he to Bacchus gave his better part. 

" Now music lends her sweet enchanting power 
And plumes the gay for more voluptous hour. 
Musicians sable, draw the fiddle bow 
And one artistic picks the old banjo. 

"The dulcet strains impatient dancers haste, 
Who never let such gliding measures waste. 
Now gallant, gay, they seek their partners fair, 
And lead them out in dances round and square. 

" But some unmindful sat in tete-a-tete, 

And happy here unwitting met their fate. 

For all, the glowing hours ne'er passed more fleet 

And sinking sun ne'er closed a day more sweet. 

"And shimmering like a sea of silver, gleam 
The coaches gay, in fair Selene's beam. 
That bore the merry festive throng away. 
And parted some forever on that day. 

" Of all that festal grandeur none remains 
But pictures dim that mem'ry still retains 
To ghost-like, rise and desolation mock. 
That ruthless stript this ancient noble stock." 



30 THE OLD MANSION 

The wind then mournful sighed, and all was 

hushed — 
A thousand changeful fancies o'er me rushed — 
** Speak once again and tell me all," I cried, 
*' Of what befell this house of noble pride." 

" Of all, 'twould take too long," the voice replied, 
** But more I'll tell you of the winsome bride. 
Now time on swiftest pinion softly flew, 
And she, still fair, a lovely matron grew. 

"A maiden's charms to sweeter grace resign 
When lights the face, a mother's smile divine. 
And happy seasons fill the passing year 
Where love makes duty light to children dear. 

" Two noble boys to manly prime attained ; 
A mother's joy a father's pride remained — 
A girl in beauty's galaxy a star; 
The zenith reached and lustrous shone afar. 

" Her hand had distant lovers sought in vain ; 
Her playmate years ago in wood or lane, 
Had won her heart, and claimed her long before, 
And they would happy wed in twelve months 
more. 

" But ere their wedding day, war's dread alarms 
The country filled and called its pride to arms — 
Then he as captain went to lead the brave 
Who gallant fought their sunny land to save. 

" No fairer morn e'er dawned than on the day 
The noble sons in uniform of gray, 
Their mother kissed and left this very door 
To face the foe and cannon's deadly roar. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 31 

"And fair Lucile, their only sister dear, 
All pale and wan stood with her lover near, 
To cheer and comfort her they tried in vain; 
She'd have her way, ' They'd never meet again.' 

"Alas ! too true Lucile's prophetic words — 
On bloody Malvern Hill 'mid clashing swords, 
While leading on his band of gallant Grays, 
Her lover fell the foremost in the frays. 

" She, of a broken heart, soon passed away, 
And side by side, a slab now marks their clay. 
And when doth sorrow end when once begun ? 
At Gettysburg was slain the younger son. 

" While in a ward the other lingering lay — 
Resigned, he calmly breathed his soul away. 
The evil tidings drove the mother mad — 
She like a statue sat with face so sad, 

" Or like a spirit wandered seeking them. 

As crazy fancies led with changeful whim. 

The father bore his grief till she was laid 

Within the churchyard, 'neath the willow's shade. 

"Advanced the foe as waged the war. 

And battle's roar terrific sounds afar — 

For 'Marse ' the faithful blacks now picket stood 

To guard the house, their line within the wood. 

" One morn the inner post the signal heard, 
The foe's approach the faithful picket feared. 
'To 'vent surprise, I'll gib ole marse de 'larm, 
Fer him, dis nigger's boun' to keep frum harm.' 



32 THE OLD MANSION 

" When near, he saw a hurrying to and fro, 
And riding master's bay came old Black Joe, 
'Well Bob,' said Joe, ' Ole marse has gone to 

rest; 
He's lef ' dis vvorl' to be forever blest.' " 

" Forever blest ! " I murmured, then awoke — 
**Ah, was it but a dream of fancy broke ? 
But see ! these walls bear sign of shell and ball 
Too true," said I, " not all a dream, not all." 



THE SOUTHERN CHIEF. 

Suggested by his last visit to the capitol at Jackson, Miss. 

HE came once more to meet his people — 
No war-trump marshalled Gray or Blue, 
Not to prepare for war's fierce conflict ; 
No more his veterans to review. 

Long years had passed in deep seclusion, 
The chief since on that fatal day 

He saw his hopes so dearly cherished 
Like mocking phantoms fade away. 

When set the sun on sunny Southland, 

When pride and pomp and cause were lost; 

When proudly streamed the victor's banner 
Where once the chief had led his host. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 33 

And powerless to aid his people, 
He watched their interest from afar ; 

With gladness hailed the dawn approaching, 
That ushered their pale beaming star. 

They followed him to death or victory 
Undaunted, firm, his veterans brave, 

For swelled his ranks the flower of chivalry, 
And many filled an honored grave. 

Now o'er him came a deeper yearning 

For his devoted remnant band, 
And to their invitation, calling, 

He passive came at love's command. 

He came before them like a vision. 

Brought back the well-remembered days — 

When he on battlefields had led them ; 
When fresh and green they wore their bays. 

His step no longer firm and steady 

But still erect his noble form : 
His locks had in the tempest whitened, 

Bared to the fury of the storm. 

For peace white-winged had spread no pinion 

To cover his defenceless head. 
And he alone was left unsheltered 

To expiate in other's stead. 

And beauty, youth and age were gathered 

Within that vast assembled hall, 
And rang cheer after cheer in greeting. 

The chief who well had served them all. 



34 THE OLD MANSION 

Majestic, calm he stood before them ; 

His eye met tenderly their gaze. 
The old chief's heart was stirred within him, 

As memories rose of other days. 

He'd never come again to meet them ; 

For now from out their lives he'd passed, 
His followers hear his words of comfort, 

Devoted love still breathes his last. 

For kindled then the old flame burning 
For Mississippi his own loved state, 

And praise he gave her sons deserving, 
He felt his loyal breast inflate. 

He'd fought with them at Beuna Vista, 
Repelled the lancers with his V. 

When flying from the field went Mignon, 
And they had gained the victory. 

He'd served the people long and faithful 
In Senate hall, on tented field. 

And watching, guarding well their interest, 
Their honored trust affection sealed. 

That veteran band no terror moving, 
Their tears in womanish weakness drop 

At parting with the gray-haired warrior. 
Who once had been the nation's prop. 

In all his sorrows sympathizing, 
To him by true affection bound, 

Now though his life was closed in shadows, 
His heart in them a solace found. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 35 



IN MEMORIAM 

OF REV, A. R. GRAVES. 

SO many moons have rolled away — 
So long the weary years, 
Since last, " my daughter" I heard him say 
In tones that thrilled my heart. 

His latest breath in prayer was spent 

For blessings on each one. 
His love, in death, the strength had lent, 

Can we forget such love ? 

In tenderness I've seen him oft 

Caress his tearful child. 
His kindly words seemed music soft 

That soothed our childish grief. 

He was a man so noble, true. 

All might in him confide — 
No better friend the poor e'er knew 

To aid them in their need. 

He was a man of liberal mind, 

And scorned an action mean, 
Benevolent to all mankind. 

Was to a friend sincere. 



36 THE OLD MANSION 

His soul was pure as air he breathed 

'Mong Saratoga's hills, 
His boyhood home whose memories wreathed, 

Oft cheered his later years. 

When he had gone to stranger land, 

And broke his earliest ties 
To sow the seed with liberal hand 

Where'er the Master bade. 

He was about his Master's work 

Not to be seen of men ; 
No duty did he ever shirk 

However hard the task. 

Tho' he is gone his work remains. 

His foster children bless 
Him for his labor and his pains, 

His memory sweet embalm. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 37 



SORROW. 

AH, well, I know thy drooping form, 
Thy hollow cheek, thy faltering step, 
That comes in sunshine or in storm. 
I know thy voice, thy low deep wail, 
Whether in cot or dome 
Your sable robe doth trail. 

With noiseless step I've seen thee glide 

And steal the smiles of lovely fair, 
And blanch the cheek that bloomed in pride. 
I've seen the brave before thee pale, 
Stricken the proud heart lay, 
I've heard his bitter wail. 

Unwelcome visitor of man 

To counting-room or festive board 
You come and thwart our every plan ! 
You break the dream of life most sweet 
Be it the young or old 
Your dark lank form doth meet. 

I've seen thee press the Christian's hand 

And roughly call his mortal joys, 
Yet he alone doth thee withstand ; 
The soul secure, heeds not thy might, 
Hidden his treasures are 

Where comes no sorrow's blight. 



38 THE OLD MANSION 



WHATEVER IS, IS RIGHT. 

^T^IS said, " Whatever is, is right," 

1 'Gainst no condition we should fight, 
And man himself would like to think 
When'er he sees his fortunes sink. 
It was not he who steered the ship. 
But oft his mind is ill at ease — 
The failures which succeed his plan, 
Were they of his or heaven's decrees ? 
'Tis sad to see a briefless lawyer 
Whom Nature shaped to be a sawyer. 
If he his making had not spoiled 
He need not thus have fruitless toiled ; 
Abused is ^Esculapius art 
When soul and body 're made to part 
By use of drops or deadly pills, 
A quack prescribes and always kills. 
God gives to each some gift in kind, 
And every man should know his mind ; 
For oft he makes the hardest lot 
Who tries to be what he is not. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 39 



WHITTIER'S DEATH. 

THOU art not dead, sweet singer, 
Nor silent is thy song 
But grosser sounds that linger 
Our cold dull ears doth fill. 



When cold the spark that smolders, 

The spirit wings its way: 
The broken urn but molders. 

And mingles with its dust. 

And friends their eyes are bending 

On earth that nothing holds 
Of him whose love is blending 

With love of those who mourn. 

For he in realms higher 

Now wears a victor's crown 
And sings the praises nigher 

Of Him, " who all things gives." 

Fresh burns the fire glowing 
That filled his breast with zeal, 

Whose magic power none then knowing 
Has wrought a nation's change. 

In measures sweeter flowing 

His heaven-born thought doth move 
'Mong flowers ethereal blowing 

Lives in their fresher bloom. 



40 THE OLD MANSION 

No more of Misery's weeping 
His verse divine doth tell, 

'Tis Joy's sweet story sweeping 
Love's golden chords above. 

His soul doth drink the pleasures 
That here it longed to taste, 

More perfect now it measures 
The love of Christian grace. 



YOUR NEIGHBOR'S GLASSES. 

IF you your faults would like to see 
Your neighbor's glasses borrow. 
To you so much revealed will be, 
'Twill fill your heart with sorrow. 

These glasses magnify each flaw 
In light so clear and strong, 

Where only virtue once you saw, 
Appears but grievous wrong. 

Although the knowledge give you pain 

For good it all will end. 
If you at last perfection gain 

By aid those glasses lend. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 41 



A CRITICISM. 

A CRITICISM wise and just 
Bespeaks a friend that we may trust 
But mark the man, of him beware ! 
Who wanton finds a fault unfair, 
Nor scarcely less the person shun 
Who praises all and censures none. 
A doubtful meaning some express 
You read it more or you read it less, 
A beaten track awhile will go 
You think you understand and know, 
Off in a tangent sudden flies ; 
All in a mystery deeper lies, 
A Will-o'-the-Wisp, now here, now there. 
You seek with hope, then in despair 
To catch the sense of words so fair. 

Some live a life that sore misleads ; 

His specious views breed doubtful deeds. 

In Protean shapes he will disguise 

And deal in devil's merchandise. 

A graceless sinner, plays a saint 

While pressing people till they faint, 

'Gainst tyranny will enter plaint. 

Magnanimous, large means he tries — 

For great reforms he lusty cries, 

But petty woes and wants despise. 

Of Liberty a patron reigns 

While closer still he draws the chains 

That make men slaves and keep them so. 



42 THE OLD MANSION 

Like an eagle upward soars, 
Like a vulture swoops and floors 
His helpless victims, to destroy, 
In carnage such as fiends enjoy. 
On tiptoe comes with loftiest grace 
In Christian's pew to find a place, 
His recreant limbs in ermine clad. 
That cost the tears of children sad. 
Its web and woof the price of tears 
The poor have shed when ruthless peers 
Not e'en their slender living spares. 

And orphans' cries his prayers prevent 

He fain to Heaven would have sent. 

His promises so fairly spun, 

That here his earthly greatness won — 

Recording angel pens as lies 

Of Satan's guild* of deepest dyes. 

A nation's parasite he sits, 

And lives and fattens by his wits — 

He in ermine, they in rags — 

Whose fleeces year by year, he bags. 

But there 's a role he cannot play, 

Nor compensation cannot stay — 

When inequalities shall fuse, 

And every man receives his dues. 

* Of his workmanship. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 43 



THE MAGIC MIRROR. 

A TRAVELER weary worn was I 
The eve I reached the town of Y. 
To sooth my heart with care opprest, 
I sought a place of peaceful rest — 
Here bounteous Nature poured her store. 
Hard by in noble grandeur stood 
The ancient monarchs of the wood 
That saw the boy turn old and gray, 
That gathered acorn cups at play, 
Or hours jolly with comrades made, 
In merry frolics 'neath their shade. 
To playful urchins of his race, 
A trembling sire resigned his place. 
And long has slept beneath the sod 
On which his infant feet had trod. 
From silver-throated warblers near 
Rich tinkling notes regailed my ear, 
And mingled sweetly soft and low, 
A maiden's voice in rythmic flow. 
Returned the shadowy dreams of yore 
When life to me was bliss in store — 
The present but to be endured 
For joys that future years secured. 
Deceiving phantom lures us on, 
To leave untasted joys that's gone — 
While waiting for a sweeter draught, 
We perish, die for what is not. 



44 THE OLD MANSION 

The church spires bathed in mellow light, 
Looked down upon the quiet town ; 
No rude alarms distract with fear, 
For evil there was all put down, 
And rum must go, the people said, 
For woe enough it long had made. 
So men and women put it out, 
And with it went the drunken bout. 
Where dram-shops stood are houses neat. 
That ornament the shaded street. 
And heard, instead of moans and sighs. 
Is music sweet of lullabies. 

At evening on the shaven green 
The playful children might be seen, 
And oft their joyous laughter ringing 
Set my weary soul a-singing. 
I thought all wealth and fame but toys 
Compared with their sweet simple joys. 
Here, too, I found the noblest sages 
Who wrote and read their ample pages. 
The sweetest nectar I did sip, 
Tho' oft the cup had pressed my lip, 
I longed for this Pierian spring 
That filled without ambition's sting. 
It seemed content, there only reigned, 
No envy burned or malice pained. 
Still lingering in this genial place, 
I learned to love each form and face. 
Some soft excuse from day to day 
The hour of parting did delay. 

* -K- * * * -5 

One summer morn I rose at dawn. 
From dewy glade awoke the fawn ; 



AND OTHER POEMS. 45 

Just risen from her cozy bed, 

A timid hare before me sped. 

The sun in all its glory seemed 

To rise just from the water's edge, 

And chase the shadows far and wide 

That hid the lake and rocky ledge, 

I thougnt not in this lonely place 

To see a human form or face, 

But straight before my wondering eyes 

A woman stood in dusky guise. 

She held a cup of vile contents, 

And with a heart that ne'er relents. 

She wrought her spells with potent charms 

As wildly tossed her tawny arms. 

Her eye caught mine, and thus she spake, 

" What would you see ? the shiny lake ? " 

For want of something else to say, 

I answered " yes," and walked that way. 

I stood before the sibyl's cave, 

And naught I heard but sullen wave. 

I viewed with care this lonely grot. 

And sure it was a dismal spot. 

Said she, *' I deal in magic lore. 

Here many came in days of yore 

To learn the secrets hid from men 

That never can be writ by pen. 

To yonder knoll come go with me. 

The false, the true, revealed will be. 

The world with all its mottled crew 

Before you spread in open view." 

Said I, " There's much I'd like to know, 

So if you please, with you I'll go." 

Then from a chest a glass she drew 

Of quaintest style all burnished new. 



46 THE OLD MANSION 

Said she, "The magic of this glass 

All other charms doth far surpass." 

Along the rugged path we sped, 

With fleet and nimble step she tread. 

I followed fast, too lithe was she; 

She reached the knoll and looked on me. 

I clambered up the steep ascent, 

And sat me down my breath all spent. 

The wondrous glass she brought to view; 

I gazed upon a picture new. 

Upon a plain of vast extent, 

A ladder tall on heaven leant. 

A throng, the ladder strove to climb, 

Some old, some young, some in their prime ; 

Of ev'ry calling or profession. 

Before me passed in grand procession ; 

The demagogue and partisan, 

The farmer and the artisan, 

The serf and lord, both king and queen, 

And soldier bold of sternest mien, 

The little man behind the press 

Who writes his news in borrowed dress, 

And vents his spleen in steady volume 

On those who slight his weekly column. 

The ladder's highest rung to gain, 

I saw each give the other pain, 

A warrior rose with rapid stride, 

By strength he crushed or pushed aside 

Whoever did obstruct his way. 

All joined his progress to delay. 

Combined in vain, too puny they. 

He conquered all, and scaled with ease 

The highest rung, which ought to please 

Ambition's proudest soul. Ye gods ! 



AND OTHER POEMS. 47 

He weeps and would presumptuous tread 

Empyrean plains but Bacchus nods, 

And hurls him down to earth again. 

In frenzy politicians strove ; 

When near the goal, one thought he throve, 

Some demagogue then pulled him down 

And took the place with great renown. 

Too weak, the steep to climb, some fell 

Whose cries in mournful numbers roll 

Or silent broods the sorrowing soul. 

I scanned the groups to find a face 

I knew, when lo ! with steady pace, 

From the town of Y there came the sages ; 

They struggled hard in frantic rages, 

To rise each one above the others. 

And they, I thought, had loved as brothers. 

And there were numbers I had seen 

Upon the pleasant village green, 

All well concealed by little arts, 

Was burning hate within their hearts. 

Ah well, thought I, there is no place 

Where love can dwell without a trace 

Of baleful envy's dire unrest, 

To wound and pain a trusting breast. 

■X- -St * * * 

I looked still farther on the plain 
Some more refreshing view to gain. 
My heart was thrilled with pleasure new 
When so unlike the ladder's crew, 
On lofty heights I saw the true. 
There, terrace broad on terrace rose, 
In glittering peaks their tops expose ; 
And on each wide and verdant plat 
These happy souls reclined or sat. 



48 THE OLD MANSION 

Too kind to work alone for self, 
And live for fame or sordid pelf, 
The good they'd done for men and nations 
Had raised them to these lofty stations. 
Among the great I noted one 
Than whom for truth fought braver none. 
He broke the chain of superstition 
And crushed the power of inquisition ; 
And ages yet will tell the story 
Of his struggles and his glory. 
Another fair as morning shone ; 
A nation claims him as her own. 
He wore a crown of thirteen stars 
From Britain won in bloody wars. 
Proud monarchs yielded to his power, 
And long the foe did rue the hour 
When first he met the gallant band, 
That from oppression freed the land. 
And matrons sat with beaming faces 
Whose virtues won these lofty places. 
Their prayers of faith like incense rise 
And fall in blessing from the skies. 
The weak in virtuous paths they lead, 
The naked clothe, the hungry feed. 
I stood well pleased to view the train 
That rose continuous from the plain 
Serene and calm, their eyes beam love. 
And happy hearts join those above. 
Love plumes the wing that bears the soul 
Upward and onward to the goal. 
Ne'er let my name illustrious shine 
If bowed before ambition's shrine 
My soul shall lose its wealth divine. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 49 



MELANCHOLIA. 

A SEER grim, a goblin glum oft comes 
Unbid, within, he on the hearthstone sits. 
With knowing look, he strokes his chin and says 
•'Ah, dreary is the day that opes for all ! 
There's naught in field, there's naught in till, to 

cheer. 
The drouth is sore, the pastures green are dead. 
And blighted, too, the fruits and waving grain, 
But harder still the lot in winter drear 
When all is bleak, and shrieks the blast that hunts 
The bleating flocks beneath the empty shed ! 
When children near the fire draw and miss 
The 'customed pleasures fruitful harvest brings. 
Man gains a meager living scarcely more. 
And vainly thinks some day to live at ease. 
Why should he labor thus from year to year ? 
Mistaken creatures ! need some good advice. 
And forth I'll go to aid those most in need." 
He gropes his way, and sees a flickering light. 
He lifts the latch, a merchant finds alone 
And though unbid, he boldly sits to talk. 
"Good sir, how ill you look ! you're growing thin. 
'Tis plain you work too hard ; 'twill be your death. 
O'er musty ledgers filled with worthless bills 
You pore ; and post accounts that nothing pay. 
Why toil thus vainly, year by year, and lose ? 
Your plans are but a dream that melt to air. 
You're gulled each day, and yet are still deceived. 
Some poor-house pauper yet you'll be, or find 
A[,harder lot from post to pillar tossed. 



50 THE OLD MANSION 

I'm but a friendly guest that warn you thus, 
Farewell 1 I hope you'll profit by advice," 

He wanders forth to find a victim new, 

A holy man upon his text intent, 

Next Sabbath's sermon to prepare, now hears 

A most unwelcome tapping at the door, 

And well within he finds the sable guest 

Who says, " Ah sir, you strive for ways and means 

To do these people good, and what care they 

For all your toil, your counsel or reproof? 

Another now would better fill the place. 

Your fogy ways and plans are out of date. 

Now, I am sure I tell you as a friend, 

The church of you, most gladly would be rid. 

Your prosy sermon drives them mad ; they long 

For something fresh and new you cannot give. 

The sisters doze, the deacons restless grow, 

Before your "thirdly 's " quite begun, and some 

The time beguile in counting bonnets new 

Or taking note of Fashion's latest style, 

And when you're paid, O how they fret and fume ! 

To seek the church's good and not his own 

Is ever>' Christian's sacred duty bound. 

Take my advice — 'twere better you resign." 

With saintly air, he bade his host adieu. 

Upon the pastor's desk unfinished lay 
The sermon for unruly members meant ; 
And long the poor man sat, and thought. 
Of any man's, his lot should be deplored. 
And thus to all, this spirit glum will come 
To fill the soul with expectation dire. 
His breath, with clouds, can brightest skies o'ercast; 
To poisonous weeds, transform the fairest flowers ; 
The sweetest harmonies in discord break. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 



THE REPINING DAISY. 

SAID a little daisy, 
Fresh from the kindly earth, 
" How can one so tiny 
E'er be of any worth. 

** Why, I can scarce be seen 

I am so very small — 
My dress is simple white— 

I make no show at all ! 

** If I were but a rose 

With velvet petal red, 
I'd never be ashamed, 

But proudly raise my head. 

♦•A weak and useless thing," 
She murmured with a sigh, 

"Here in this lonely nook 
Unseen I'll live and die." 

Just then a fairy child 

Came lightly tripping by ; 

She paused, her eager eyes 
The little daisy spy. 

Now trembling from the hand 
Of prattling little maid. 

The daisy in surprise, 
Was in a basket laid. 



52 THE OLD MANSION 

*' This daisy mother'll paint 
And send it to the queen, 

The fairest court I know, 
My eyes have ever seen." 

Next in a costly vase 
Her daisyship was placed : 

An artist's skillful hand 
Her golden bosom traced. 

A daisy fresh and fair 
Upon the canvas bloomed ; 

But lifeless in the vase 
The model was entombed. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 53 



THE WHIP-POOR-WILL. 

IN the woodland deep, thy safe retreat, 
Bird of the evening, sweet and shy, 
The day you pass from mortal eye, 
'Mong leafy boughs, on noiseless wing 
With your mate you glide till sinks the sun, 
Then your sad notes the welkin ring. 

Unheralded, in the twilight soft. 

You ever come when blooms the rose ; 

Anear your song continuous pours 

Till morn's first crimson flush appears, 

Then back you haste to your lonely bower 

Where none disturb or wake your fears. 

Doth sorrow ever thy bosom swell 
Bird of the brown and glossy wing, 
That thus in plaintive note you sing ? 
Hath some great woe beset thy race 
That ever in solitude you pass 
Your life in some deep shadowy place ? 

None know thy secret, lonely bird. 

Or why thy song the heart doth touch, 

Bringing a flood of mem'ries, such 

As melt to tears, of years ago, 

When love's echo seemed each tender word 

That thrilled a heart with love aglow. 



54 THE OLD MANSION 



THE WOODSPRITE'S SONG. 

I WENT into the solemn wood 
Beneath the moss-grown trees I stood; 
Weird and wild my fancies grew, 
Methought some being near me drew, 
Some spirit breathing soft and low 
Till clearer, stronger sounds prolong ; 
It was the woodsprite's simple song, 
Capricious spirit of the wood. 
She sings in gay or pensive mood ; 
Unseen, the mantling shades among, 
*Twas of the redman thus she sung. 

" Child of the wood 

Here in thy home. 
Thy happy life once knew no fear 
When on the hills you chased the deer 
Or roved by reedy stream as free 
As the winds that whisper now of thee, 

No more on the hills. 

No more by the rills, 

Thy voice do we hear. 

"Child of the wood, 

I grieve for thee. 
When on the pebbly shore I stand, 
And view the rich and goodly land, 
Once thine — thy happy hunting ground, 
Where warriors proud with glory crowned, 



AND OTHER POEMS, 55 

For pastime would spar, 
For in chase or in war, 
Ye're a fearless band. 

"Child of the wood, 

All left of thine 
Is ancient mound that marks thy dead — 
Perchance a bead or arrow-head 
The plowshare turns from mellow earth, 
And farmer boy picks up with mirth, 

But in memory dwells 

The story it tells 

Of the life you led. 

" In woody wilds, 

Where once there stood 
The wigwams low by camp-fires lit, 
Where braves their pipes a-smoking sit 
While comely squaws their meals prepared 
Of fish and venison generous shared, 

And chiefs by their fires 

Told deeds of their sires 

No pen ever writ. 

*' A stately dome 

Now rises there ; 
And wealth and grandeur's gay parades, 
The wigwam e'en from memory fades. 
From marble founts and new-made ways 
The waters gush in silver sprays. 

You stooped to drink 

From mossy brink, 

'Neath the forest shades. 



56 THE OLD MANSION 

'* Thou child of chance, 

Untamed and free, 
Far to the West thy home must be ; 
Thy wigwam rude must near the sea. 
Far o'er the main shall float thy song 
That bears the burden of thy wrong. 

If tears could avail 

Thy fate I'd bewail, 

I'd weep for thee." 



MY QUEEN. 

NO pearls or diamonds can compare 
With graces of my queen so fair, 
And binds me to her magic spell 
A love more strong than tongue can tell. 
I see her cheek in blooming rose 
And her bright eyes in starshine glows. 
And when her smile o'er dimple plays 
No light o'er gloom so sweetly sways. 
But then our queen's a lassie yet 
For she's our baby and our pet. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 57 



FANNY LOU'S LOVERS. 

THERE was a little maiden fair, 
Who lived just o'er the way, 
Her saucy smile, coquettish air, 
Had won two lovers gay. 

"Of all the girls that 's in her set, 
There 's none like Fanny Lou. 

And tho' the best of friends, we yet 
Will for her favor sue." 

To see sweet Fanny Lou they went, 

Still friends, till on the sly 
A jewel-casket Walter sent 

By some swift Nellie Bly. 

That box so tiny, now estranged 

From him his rival friend, 
That jealous passion had deranged 

And would their friendship end. 

That Walter's love could be no fraud, 
And Fanny loved him too, 

The busy gossips noised abroad, 
Till Robert angry grew. 

He ceased to come, this jealous one, 
Why, Fanny could not guess ; 

When she was told the box alone 
Was cause— nor more nor less. 



58 THE OLD MANSION 

The time to months had sped away, 

He cold and colder grew, 
Till hardly friends, it seemed, were they 

Who once had been so true. 

The world was now a dreary waste 

Without a ray of sun, 
Of death, despair now seemed a taste 

To this deluded one. 

For Fanny Lou was just the same, 

Her heart was e'en as true 
As when that Sunday eve he came 

Before the mischief brew. 

His pain he thought he could not bear 

So mad it drove him, too. 
He found a place all to prepare 

A wicked deed to do. 

He watched beneath a clump of pine. 

His dagger laid in rest, 
Said he, " He'll feel this hand of mine, 

This lance shall do its best." 

He waited there with bated breath 
Until the moon went down. 

Yet still none came to meet his death, 
And silent was the town. 

The jealous demon held him sore 
And tho' his hands were clean 

His soul was stained with human gore, 
For thus with sullen mien 



AND OTHER POEMS. 59 

He spoke, ** Ah, well, you've 'scaped to-night 

But I will bide my time, 
Some set of sun you'll feel my might. 

You'll hear your last love's chime." 

With labored breath and beads of sweat, 

Upon his darkened brow, 
That night in bed, his victim met 

In dreams of bloody row. 

While at the hour the other lay, 
And peaceful slept and dreamed 

Of foreign lands, 'neath skies of May 
Where wealth and beauty teemed. 

An angel heaven may have sent 

To warn the hapless man, 
For quite another way he went 

So 'scaped the bloody plan. 

Then, too, that night he seemed to know 
That Fanny's thoughts did stray. 

While he was talking, love aglow, 
She seemed so far away. 

He then and there made up his mind 

To bid a long adieu, 
In tender tones and words still kind. 

He bade farewell to Lou. 

And soon he sailed for India's land 

His fortune there to find, 
A-delving in the golden sand 

For gems of precious kind. 



6o THE OLD MANSION 

His sudden leave did all surprise, 

But most of all his foe 
Who 'gan to feel he'd been unwise 

To seek revenge so low. 

" Now, why did Walter go," thought he, 

" If Fanny loved him so ? 
Ah, jealous love hath blinded me, 

And caused me all this woe. 

" The dastard deed I thought to do 

To one so good a friend 
As Walter, who was always true, 

Is worthy of a fiend." 

And now remorse his bosom fills, 

He grows a better man ; 
With patience learns to bear life's ills. 

And do what good he can. 

For Walter's sake he vowed to speak 

No more of love to Lou ; 
And ne'er by word or deed would seek 

To prove her false or true. 

Although resolved as friend to speak 
When he should meet with Lou, 

His vow he could not wholly keep, 
For love still stronger grew. 

The voice of justice soon was stilled 
Amid Love's ravings wild. 

Love bore him captive as she willed, 
And then at justice smiled. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 6i 

Twelve moons had Walter been away 

When rang the wedding bells ; 
And on their happy nuptial day 

Of sadness nothing tells. 

A happy wife was Fanny Lou, 

And Robert was more gay ; 
His trade increased, he prosperous grew 

As sped the years away. 

When all forgot what I have told, 

A girl as young and fair 
As Fanny Lou in days of old 

Came tripping down the stair 

And lightly out into the street 

She went the darling one, 
And said in cheerful tone so sweet, 

"Now, mother dear, I'm gone." 

Then pattering down the shaded way 

Were heard her little feet. 
Till turning where the crossing lay 

Into the market street. 

A handsome man with foreign air 

Alighted from a brett, 
Adown the busy thoroughfare 

This stranger tall she met. 

He noted her with strange surprise 

And well she knew it too. 
He thought, " Can I believe my eyes, 
That must be Fanny Lou. 



62 THE OLD MANSION 

" But still too young and fair for her 
She must have older grown "; 

To know, a moment did defer, 
Then stepped the crossing-stone, 

And kindly said with courteous bow, 

" I beg your pardon Miss, 
But here I am a stranger now. 

And will you tell me this, 

" Does Robert Hendricks still live here? 

I've looked in all West End ; 
I've been away for many a yttar, 

And cannot find a friend." 

" O, yes, and I'm his daugliter, sir, 
He lives on Jackson Square, 

Third street from Bond and Water, sir, 
You'll find my father there." 

Another thing he wished to know, 

But only asked her name, 
'* 'Tis Fanny Lou ; they call me Flo, 

'Cause mother's is the same." 

That was enought he knew it all 

With husky voice he said, 
** My thanks, sweet maid, I am McCall," 

And not a moment stayed. 

But Flo a wondrous story told, 
And strange ! the name forgot ; 

Some said he was a soldier bold. 
But none of Walter thought. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 63 

And had not Walter's love grown cold 

In all those years away, 
And all his coffers rich with gold 

What pleasure, now, were they ? 

But best of all one day at last 

With Walter, Robert met ; 
To make amends for all the past. 

He was the kindest yet. 

His home with him, must Walter share 

And never parted be. 
If love could all his wrongs repair 

It should be given free. 

The children called him uncle Walt, 

No friend they loved so well. 
But now was anyone at fault ? 

The strangest thing to tell. 

When birds were gay and flowers a-bloom 

And summer's censer swung, 
For Flo and uncle Walt the groom 

The wedding bells were rung. 



64 ^ THE OLD MANSION 



A DREAM OF LOVE. 

LOVE came to me one summer day 
On shining golden wings. 
In sweeter strain than minstrel's lay 
He told me wondrous things. 

The softest zephjTS fanned my face 

And perfumed all the air, 
And then to some enchanted place 

Me off they seemed to bear. 

In marble halls of brightest sheen 

I felt my pulses thrill, 
As music from some source unseen 

My being seemed to fill. 

And sweetly odorous breath of flowers 

Came softly stealing in, 
And cooling founts sprayed silv'ry showers 

Enchantment dealing in. 

For passive now, love led me on 

To richer palace fair ; 
In costly elegance were strown, 

The halls with treasures rare. 

Rare statues graced the corners deep. 
Art's masters on me frowned ; 

No tears, thought I, did they e'er weep 
Who are so richly crowned. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 65 

I tread Love's palace paved with gold 

With feelings undefined. 
Some gentle power I felt enfold 

My every wish inclined. 

When he that led me, spoke again, 

then I saw it seems 

The one that I had sought in vain, 
The one Pd seen in dreams. 

But never nobler in my dreams 

Than he that bent o'er me. 
And said, "The fairest star that gleams 

Can not compare with thee." 

blissful life ! all fairer grew 
In Love's enchanted bowers ; 

As circling seasons swiftly flew, 

1 took no note of hours. 

Ah, cruel fate ! I woke one morn, 

And found my love departed ; 
Of every grace my palace shorn, 

And I was broken hearted. 

1 found my love was all a dream, 
And never 'mid life's waking 

Is seen in daylight's common beam 
A Love of such a making. 



66 THE OLD MANSION 



THE FIRST QUARREL. 

I STROLLED upon an idle day, 
I thought from others far away. 
When lo ! a secret I did hear 
Told by a hapless lover near. 

He sat. there pensive and alone, 
His looks were sad and woe-begone. 
His girl, the burden of his sighs, 
Of her he did soliloquise: 

** My girl, my girl, lovely creature ! 
She's faultless quite, form and feature, 
Her virtues more than mortal ken 
Deserve a poet's tongue or pen. 

** She's neither short nor very tall. 
Her soft white hands are very small, 
She wears the daintiest little shoe 
I think it is a number two. 

"Her hair, its color can't be told 
'Tis dark with just a tinge of gold. 
Her eyes are of a hazel brown. 
And lovely if she smile or frown. 

** She dresses in the latest style 
Her silks of tan, sea-green or nile, 
I know not which become her best. 
She's charming in whate'er she's drest. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 67 

" She has a very queenly air, 
Too sweet ! her walking I declare, 
It makes my heart go pit-a-pat 
I can but smile and tip my hat. 

'* Earth's purest gold, sea's rarest pearl 
I'd give to win this charming girl. 
If she'll consent to be my wife 
A happy man I'll be for life." 

In sheer disgust, I left the lune 
Still whining on in love-sick tune, 
Full well I knew ere very late 
He'd seek the girl to know his fate. 

As I supposed, not long the day 
Was set to wed this girl so gay, 
And to his home with greatest pride 
He brought his fair and gentle bride. 
^ * * * * ^ 

Some months, perhaps 'twas three or four, 
I passed along quite near their door ; 
Within I heard a dreadful strife— 
The man was quarreling with his wife. 

"Here I've waited till half-past one, 

And not a bit of dinner done," 

Said she, " I know 'tis only noon 

Your watch is wrong, you've come too soon." 

" My time is right, I know 'tis one 
My watch I set 'long with the sun." 
** Then sir, your watch must run too fast 
I know 'tis twelve and not half-past." 



68 THE OLD MANSION 

The sweetest girl, now angry wife, 
With spiteful words kept up the strife. 
Unmindful quite of what he did, 
Upset the tea and broke the lid. 

"There goes my costly china, now. 
Another set I'll have, I vow," 
The table-linen drenched with tea, 
The dinner cold, a sight to see. 

Not a mouthful either tasted ; 

She in tears, from home he hasted — 

The evening long and weary, wore, 

The young wife's heart was sick and sore. 

She sat and watched till twilight gray 
In shadows closed that woeful day. 
Then rose with sighs to make the tea. 
And wondered what the end w^ould be. 

He too, more sad and thoughtful grew 

And all that eve was very blue, 

He inly felt he was to blame. 

And thought such anger was a shame. 

"Straight now, I'll buy that china set 
Perhaps all right I'll make it, yet." 
With new resolves and china too, 
Then to his home he almost flew. 

With hasty jerk, he opes the gate ; 
When on the steps, he calls to Kate, 
*' Come here my love, my darling pet 
And see your nice new china set." 



AND OTHER POEMS. 69 

She, now, all smiles without a trace 
Of tears, that lately stained her face, 
Then meets him at the parlor door 
And gives him kisses by the score. 

Now, oft I've heard the neighbors say 
Of all that decks her side-board gay, 
Kate prizes most that china set 
That warns them of the angry pet. 



THE FREAKS OF CUPID. 

WELL now," said little Cupid, 
"I'm ready for my flight. 
'Tis real dull and stupid 
To lie here such a night." 

Then from his cozy bower, 

He soon was out of sight 
And from a lofty tower 

Surveyed the starry night. 

And from his station spying 

A gorgeous palace bright, 
The longer he kept eyeing 

The more he craved a sight. 

"Ah, sure there's something splendid, 

I'll to that glittering hall/' 
And from his perch descended, 

To find a fancy ball. 



70 THE OLD MANSION 

" Now for those gay young creatures 

I'll see what I can do. 
I'll give their lovely feautres 

A beauty strange and new." 

And then in dreamy mazes, 

Went dancers round and round ; 

A-list'ning to their praises, 
A. thrilling pleasure found. 

The wicked little Cupid 
Was quick to fly his shaft ; 

Through many sorely stupid 
He ruthless sent the haft. 

A little dude for pity 

Imploring looked in vain. 

They sang for him a ditty 
And cruel scorned his pain. 

To save his reputation. 
Then Cupid was unfair. 

A healing preparation 
For some he did prepare. 

That Cupid is a sinner, 
Good folks will all agree ; 

He's sure to be the winner 
Tho' guarded you may be. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 71 



AN ANGEL SEEMING. 

HE sang of one, an angel seeming, 
Who sadly broke his blissful dreaming ; 
I thought of all our falseness, oh ! 
When he in song expressed his woe ; 
Began the mournful story so: 

** As Love and I went roaming, 
I pondered in the gloaming ; 
I thought of one who always seeming 
So pure that truth lay beaming 
Within her eye of heavenly blue. 
Those tender eyes of loveliest hue. 

"This winsome beauty teeming 

With charms that set me dreaming 

Of bliss for which my soul was yearning, 

I went without discerning, 

To see, as Cupid's tyros do. 

And then, too late, their folly rue. 

**'Twas in the sweetest Maying 

I went without delaying. 

I met her in the meadow singing ; 

Her step so lightly springing, 

A sprite she seemed of heavenly mold 

With loosely flowing locks of gold. 



72 THE OLD MANSION 

"This creature now approaching, 

I felt a wretch encroaching, 

How would she list to my love-suing ? 

She never thought of wooing. 

Her mates, the birds and flowers, must be, 

'Twas plain she'd never mate with me. 

" But as we kept a- walking, 

I 'gan my love a-talking. 

With joy, I saw her face was smiling ; 

Her words my heart beguiling. 

Now filled with love to overflow ; 

I'd never thought to win her so. 

" As summer went a-rolling, 
'Twas oft we went a-strolling ; 
With siren voice she kept me staying 
To hear her vainly saying, 
*I think I'll be the happiest wife 
When you and I are wed for life.' 

** But, now, the time was pressing ; 

My case became distressing. 

For when the day I spoke of naming 

Excuses quickly framing, 

She put me off" in softest way 

With no intent to set the day. 

** Now desperate I was growing 

Resolved, I was on knowing 

How long she meant to keep me waiting, 

So then, without debating ; 

Again I went to know my fate, 

I could not bear suspense so great. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 73 

"Ah, still she met me smiling, 
Then, I myself reviling 
For thinking ill of one so charming, 
That never creature harming, 
(An angel sure without the wings) 
All this I thought, and other things. 

" Now she so sweetly posing 
Her soft blue eyei> a-closing, 
To set the day I then suggesting, 
Those eyes then on me resting. 
When coldly, calmly, this she said, 
* To you I'll never, never wed.' 

" No more of tresses golden 
Though sung in story olden, 
For loving once a gold-haired maiden, 
My heart is sorrow-laden. 
Deceived me once soft eyes of blue 
To all such now I bid adieu." 



74 THE OLD MANSION 



THE LITTLE PALACE. 

I BUILT a costly little palace 
With gem and jewel set 
And sure this cozy little structure 
My ardent wishes met. 

I waited not — for time was precious — 

My task at once begun, 
And soon a little palace golden 

Was glittering in the sun. 

I silent wrought and thought of many 
Who well had done their part, 

Their patient toil and bright successes 
Revived my drooping heart. 

And when at last my work was ended, 

I felt a pleasant thrill ; 
I thought of all the friends I'd shelter 

From winter's storm and chill. 

The friends I entertained were many 

I gave of all my store. 
So in good cheer we all were happy, 

And sighed for nothing more. 

But then, alas ! a green-eyed monster 

Came boldly in my door — 
With anger scowling, snarling, hissing, 

He spat upon my floor. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 75 

Said he, "Who built this gilded bauble? 

Where got you all this wealth ? 
I know you do not rightly own it, 

It must have come by stealth." 

"And who art thou, now, ugly goblin, 

That dare me thus to tautU ? 
If thou wouldst keep thy limbs unbroken. 

This instant go, avaunt ! 

"All this is mine — by toil I earned it." 

I turned and faced about. 
When lo ! a fairy creature entered 

And quickly turned him out. 

A.t sight of her a shriek he uttered 

Most piercing to the ear ; 
And forth in frantic fury flying, 

He looked not back for fear. 

Avenging Nemesis ! he knew her — 

Said she "I'm often sent 
His spleen and malice swift to punish, 

And make him sore repent. 

" Now, straight I'm from the seat of justice 

Where truth doth with us reign ; 
Our eye is on the honest toiler, 

And we protect his gain. 

"Of thy tormentor, I avenge thee — 

Upon his head return 
His measured, meditated evil 

That doth with malice burn." 



76 THE OLD MANSION 

She gently soothed my heart's wild throbbing, 

And dried the bitter tears ; 
Inspired to greater, nobler action. 

And banished all my fears. 

She stooped and 'rased the spots unsightly, 

He put upon my floor 
And left my little palace golden 

E'en brighter than before. 



PLEASURE'S DEFENSE. 

I KNOW I'm gay in every season. 
And never feel a care. 
But tell me, is there any reason 
Why smiles I should not wear ? 

Though people call me vain and idle, 

I never feel a fear. 
There 're plenty who will round me fondle 

And seek me all the year, 

I may be found in shady corners 

Where children love to play. 
I'm vainly sought by would-be scorners 

Who fret the live-long day. 

I cannot live with those who worry, 

A frown I cannot bear ; 
I'd leave, (to say it makes me sorry) 

At sight of falling tear. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 77 

'Tis said my place is with the gay 

Who no exertion make ; 
With those who labor day by day 

A hand I never shake. 

But now my friends I'll tell you plainly 

This is a grave mistake. 
If people all would treat me sanely 

There 're none I would forsake. 



FAREWELL YE SHADES. 

FAREWELL ye walks and pleasant shades ! 
Once favored haunts of boys and maids, 
Silent and lone, we leave you now, 
To brooding dove or moping cow ; 
No merry voice of laughter ringing, 
Shall mingle with the wild bird's singing. 
Only the wind-harp's gentle sighing, 
Fit requiem of the pleasures dying. 

You'll miss the gaily bounding feet 

Of boys who here were wont to meet. 

Their games of chess, croquet or ball, 

Happy they played till soft night-fall. 

You'll miss the coyish little maiden 

Who here would list to words love-laden. 

Blushing, her faith to one she plighted 

Nor dreamed fond hopes might e'er be blighted. 



78 THE OLD MANSION 

And playful children just from school 
Oft wandered here in shadows cool, 
Gathering thy sweets the gay spring flowers, 
That decked these noble ancient bowers, 
And here beneath these shades reclining 
Some schoolboy lone almost repining. 
Pored o'er problems most perplexing, 
Or Latin verbs perchance more vexing. 

But all are gone. Farwell, sweet shades ! 
We leave you now till summer fades. 
Autumn will come in robe of gold 
With crimson fleck in every fold, 
Then again in joy will meet us 
New friends and old who long to greet us ; 
Dear are the ties that still unite us 
And here again these shades invite us. 



AND O THER POEMS. 79 



SWEET VACATION TIME. 

WHEN books are closed for holidays, 
O, then are royal times ! 
In different chords all nature plays 
And sweetest music chimes. 

Those halcyon days on grandpa's farm, 

That sweet vacation time. 
In memory dwells and every charm, 

I would recount in rhyme. 

That homestead to my childish eyes 

Then seemed a palace fair ; 
Soft fleecy clouds flecked bluest skies, 

And redolent the air 

Of blooming myrtles that graceful rose, 

And dreamy shadows flung ; 
Their crape-like blossoms in repose, 

Like silken banners hung. 

With woodbine and clematis twined. 

How dear the arbor rude ! 
Where oft we watched the nests soft-lined 

Of song-birds and their brood. 

How dear the brook where we have played, 
With pin-hook fished for trout, 

Or sailed our boats with people lade 
That shipwrecked on the route. 



8o THE OLD MANSION 

Or gayly decked as woodnymph child, 

In cap or crown of leaves, 
A robe of fern and flowers wild, 

Such as a fairy weaves. 

Our mimic court we duly paid 

To people of the wood, 
And 'long the shaded bank we strayed 

To where the old mill stood. 

When fainter grew sweet summer's smiles 

And shorter were the days, 
Our romps on snowy cotton piles 

Closed all our merry plays. 

Then grandpapa and grandmamma 

And all the aunties dear 
Who liked to hear our glad hurrah 

We left with many a tear. 

Some say that school days are the best 

I like vacation time, 
On grandpa's farm there is a zest 

That makes vacation prime. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 8i 



FEAR. 

WHENE'ER fair Luna in her moods 
Doth hide her face, and darkness broods, 
Then palUd Fear his night-walk takes 
Thro' town and wood, thro' fields and brakes. 

He oft into the chamber creeps 
And breathes on her who softly sleeps ; 
She opes her e3'es and views the room, 
A ghost appears amidst the gloom. 

A rustling leaf, the sighing breeze, 
The steps distract, the blood doth freeze, 
Of him who walks the lonely wood 
When Fear doth measure every rood. 

In misty light, some form he sees 
In deadly white upon his knees, 
Ah, now, he tells his beads or prays 
To soothe his heart or courage raise. 

How fear doth cheat the ear, the eyes ! 
From filmy cobwebs ghosts arise ; 
From creaking boughs a spirit cries. 
And fills the night with moans and sighs. 

When I my way in darkness grope 
Without the cheering light of hope, 
Then Faith benign, be thou my guide ; 
Grim fear can ne'er thy presence bide. 



82 THE OLD MANSION 

With thee to guide, I ne'er shall dread 
The net which Hate and Envy spread ; 
O'er waters dark or mountains gray 
Thou, Faith, wilt safely lead the way. 



THE FALL OF THE YEAR. 

WHEN Autumn comes, the loveliest queen, 
In crimson and gold and purple sheen, 
She changes all, how, none ever knows. 
On hill, in vale, wherever she goes. 
She paints the hillsides in colors gay 
And scatters nuts for the squirrels gray. 
The noisy jay makes a lively din 
A-telling all that acorns are in. 
And bursting with wine are purple grapes 
That never the schoolboy's eye escapes. 
In hedges and lanes red berries glow, 
And latest blossoms of creepers blow. 
In meadow and orchard children play 
And seek the dandelion gay. 
In frolic, shatter his feathery crown. 
And merrily chase the silken down. 
The silver rim of the harvest moon 
Now lengthens the day that ends too soon 
For busy reapers that bind the sheaves. 
And stack them under the shelt'ring eaves. 
Now ripe and mellow among the corn 
Are pumpkins yellow that none may scorn 



AND OTHER POEMS. 83 

And hanging ripe near the garden wall 
Are juicy peaches, the best of all. 
Sweet Autumn provides for man and beast 
And empties her store that all may feast. 
O, who loves not the fall of the year, 
A season so bright, and full of cheer ! 



REASON. 

REASON, blest seasoner of all 
Our sorrow and our joy ! 
He, who its voice obeys, escapes 
A thousand griefs and ills. 
Within its bounds voluptuous Pleasure 
Treads in measured pace, 
And learns that sweetest joys are found 
In moderation's grace. 



84 THE OLD MANSION 



A REQUIEM. 

THROUGH glade and glen a spirit 's sighing ; 
It softly whispers summer 's dying. 
And Autumn soon her bier will strew 
With loveliest flowers that beauteous grew. 

The stream in measured sweetness singing, 
Doth melt the soul, fond memories bringing 
Of friends laid low in youthful prime. 
We'll meet no more till passing time 
Shall end, and Heaven's fairer morn 
Restores our treasures from us torn. 

And now from orient chambers gleaming 
The golden light on earth lies beaming. 
So calm the fathomless ether blue, 
Its peace my passions all subdue. 
To Him above, my heart doth raise 
A grateful song of love and praise. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 85 



A SONG AT EVEN. 

OSING a song at even, 
^ When dies the day in purpling glow, 
To soothe a soul care-driven 

For me a song sing soft and low. 

Its love-tones gently stealing 
Bring back to me the " Long Ago " 

With all the blissful feeling 
That only such bright hours know. 

No sweeter rest is given 

Than brings soft music's sweet refrain, 
'Tis sweetness born of heaven 

To soothe the weariness of pain. 

If lover's heart e'er saddens 

Then Music wakes the sweetest voice. 
Sweet, silver music gladdens, 

And bids the spirit sad, rejoice. 



86 THE OLD MANSION 



CONCESSION. 

HE who to vice concedes within, 
May surely live a life of sin. 
Indulged, some crime he may commit, 
His neck will break in spite of wit. 

How oft doth man a crime commit, 
That in his mind revolved till it, 
His thought, a part of self in fact, 
Developed to a sinful act. 

What murderous thought had pictured out, 

We often see in drunken bout. 

A poor excuse some comfort lends 

To him who righteous law offends. 



AND OTHER POEMS, 87 



THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 

01 am called Forget-me-not, 
• I ope my glad blue eye 
To catch the light a-shimmering down 
From morning's cloudless sky. 

I envy not the queenly rose 

Though lovelier far than I, 
I'm culled when friends or lovers part 

"Forget-me-not," they sigh. 

As I am placed in some fair hand 

Affection's token sweet. 
Love's messenger 'tis mine to be 

And that is life complete. 



88 THE OLD MANSION 



LITTLE SCOTT. 

SON OF REV. Z. B. GRAVES. 

WHEN earth was gay with sweet spring flowers, 
And birds caroled in leafy ^bowers 
Then came dear Scott, our darling boy, 
To fill our home with light and joy. 

We watched with love and tenderest care 
Our little boy so very fair, 
As months sped on, his little arts 
Completely won our loving hearts. 

With blinding tears I now recall 
His dear, sweet words that used to fall, 
So softly on my list'ning ear ; 
Their accents now I seem to hear. 

His little form I now can see 
When on a promenade we'd be. 
As oft we met some lady fair. 
His head he'd raise with gallant air. 

Tho* hearts his sprightly manners wooed, 
I loved him most in serious mood. 
The story told of Jesus' love 
His tender heart would always move. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 

How oft 'twould my devotion raise 
To listen to his songs of praise ; 
How oft my faith was firmer made 
When lowly bowed, he reverent prayed. 

Sweet monitor he was to me, 

The truth that in the Word I see, 

*' The mouth of babes perfect Thy praise.' 

He verified in wondrous ways. 

On many calm, sweet Sabbath eves, 
When day's declining glory leaves 
Fantastic shapes in crimson dye. 
As none can paint a western sky. 

Impressed he'd leave the shady bower, 
And consecrate to God the hour ; 
No picture could be drawn more fair 
Than this sweet child at evening prayer. 

He finds mamma, while nurse he leades 
To get the Bible which he reads 
In his own sweet and childish way 
Then kneels with solemn mien to pray. 

Tho' his short life seemed just begun, 
He'd live so well, his duty done ; 
He'd served the end for which he came, 
To glorify the Master's name. 



90 THE OLD MANSION 

DEATH OF LITTLE MARION, 

YOUNGEST AND ONLY SON OF REV. Z. B. GRAVES. 

DEAR little Marion now is free 
From earthly pain or sorrow, 
No cloud or shadow can there be 
On all his glad to-morrow. 

His nights of anguish now are o'er 

The days of pain so dreary. 
He's safely reached the golden shore 

Where none are sick or weary. 

We would not call thee back again 
Where hearts with care are broken ; 

Where every pleasure has a pain. 
And leaves some better token. 

We have a hope when life is o'er, 

In heaven, love, to meet you, 
O, sweet it is to know once more 

With all the loved we'll greet you. 

Dear little Marion, fare-thee-well, 
Thy angel brother waits thee ; 

In heaven together now ye' 11 dwell, 
Immortal happy mates ye. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 91 



SEEK ME EARLY. 

DEAR little child, 'tis God who speaks, 
And says to him who early seeks, 
Me thou shalt find, thy voice I'll hear, 
Thy way I'll keep, no evil fear. 

The gentle Saviour bids thee come. 
For such, in Heaven he has a home, 
While on the earth he took and blest. 
And laid them in his arms to rest. 

Go early then and seek His face. 
Obtain the blessing of His grace ; 
From Satan he will keep you free, 
No good will he withhold from thee. 



92 THE OLD MANSION 



THE SAVAGE MAN. 

I KNOW a savage little man 
(Now children guess him if you can) 
Who often spoils the finest day 
That ever comes in June or May. 

He roughly tears the silken curls 
Of many little boys and girls, 
The sweetest face he hides with scowls, 
And round the house he gruffly growls. 

At breakfast oft be sits with you, 
And spoils the toast or dainty stew ; 
Or sometimes drives you from your seat 
And not a mouthful let you eat. 

Your little toys he spiteful breaks, 
Your pretty marbles rudely takes, 
And throws them all so far away 
They're never found tho' search you may. 

E'en when your little prayer is said, 
And you are in your cozy bed, 
He'll linger round and madly weep, 
And not a wink will let you sleep. 

That you may ever shun the same, 

I'll plainly tell his ugly name. 

He always comes with frown and whimper, 

And people call him **Evil Temper." 



AND OTHER POEMS. 93 



EXAMINATION DAY. 

I PASSED a public school one day, 
Within I heard a teacher say : 
"These questions fill me with dismay." 
The other teachers with a sigh, 
In sympathetic tones reply, 
" They are enough to craze our brain, 
The state's at fault 'tis very plain. 
The history questions are unfair ; 
Geography, too, I declare ! 
Examination I'll not stand 
While such a board is in the land." 
And then one chimed, "If we should fail 
'Tis no disgrace— so few prevail." 
I saw my friends, both girls and boys, 
Were all astir— But what annoys ? 
'Tis here a group and there a group, 
In serious colloquy they stoop. 
I met one going in hot haste 
As if he had no time to waste, 
It was examination day 
That caused this worry and dismay. 
Anon, the school-bell rang the hour 
To test their knowledge, skill and power. 
The superintendent entered grave, 
With consequential air he gave 
His mandate stern, " No help you'll have, 
For work — one day— no more suppose." 
The teachers sat in goodly rows— 



94 THE OLD MANSION 

Some calm, some pale, and some morose 
While some, smirking, seemed verbose, 
Now at their task they all begin. 
Convinced that ignorance is a sin. 
The room had grown exceeding still, 
And all were working with a will. 
When came a gray-haired pedagogue 
Who proudly swelled his catalogue 
From all the country's hopeful youth 
Who shared his honest love of truth. 
He had a reputation sure. 
That any ordeal would endure. 
With quiet step and modest glance 
To superintendent makes advance. 
The questions, now, he asks to see, 
Desires to know just what may be. 
Examination and its fee. 
'Tis plain, now, judging from his looks 
Those questions are not in his books. 
He drops the list without a word. 
Since then from him they ne'er have heard. 
Quite stunned by things so strange and new 
He left them all without adieu. 
For them it is a growing game, 
Excitement high, some almost lame, 
From writing tedious manuscript, 
And some in their impatience tript. 
Spilling ink, unhappy Misses, 
On their sashes and their dresses. 
Worse luck, one stuck his pen awry, 
And straight it went into his eye. 
So he was forced to leave the ranks ; 
If sight is spared, will give his thanks. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 95 

In the midst of these distresses, 
Time so precious, sorely presses. 
At last the weary day is o'er, 
The superintendent takes the floor, 
And tells them then with patience wait, 
Until next week to know their fate. 
Their tired brain no respite knows ; 
Their dreams are all of verse or prose ; 
And cruel, too, the pain intense 
They suffer from the long suspense. 



96 THE OLD MANSION 



THE SLAVE OF GOLD. 

WORK! Work! Work! 
His labors never cease 
Till hand and brain are weak, 
And still his toils increase. 
The slave of gold must work ; 
No respite now must take. 

Work! Work! Work I 

He hears the same refrain 

If but a season out 

To rest the tired brain. 

The slave of gold must work 

Though heart and head may ache. 

Work! Work! Work! 

He hears his pulses beat. 

Intrigues must never cease 

Till selfish wishes meet. 

Then rest thee, slave, from work— 

From dreams of gold awake. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 97 



THE FOULEST FOE. 

HALF praise is only scandal's food 
The best on which it thrives — 
All spiced with flaws, who sees the good 
That malice ill deprives ? 

An enemy in guise of friend, 

Of all, is foulest foe ; 
He doth the steps in secret tend 

To deal a fatal blow. 



TEASE NOT YOUR MUSE. 

IF thoughts you'd have, of richer vein. 
Tease not your muse; you'll nothing gain. 
She comes at unexpected hours, 
And brings rare fruits as well as flowers. 



98 THE OLD MANSION 



MY PEGASUS. 

TO Pegasus I gave the rein 
And swift we passed o'er hill and plain 
Across the foam we took our flight, 
And settled on Benevis height. 
There Scottish scenes that Burns has sung, 
The peaceful peasantry among, 
Brought fresh to mind the "Cotter's Home," 
Where " neighbors' elder bairns " would come 
To chat the while with youngsters gay 
Or sweet respects to Jenny pay. 
And thou, Killarney, praised in song, 
My raptured view, thy beauties throng — 
Thy bard, O Erin, the Shamrock sung, 
And Summer's Last Rose, in sweetest tongue ; 
Redounds to thy undying fame, 
Where'er is heard thy poet's name. 
Pale shines the light on cloistered aisles 
As vespers now the hour beguiles. 
Proud London's turrets gloomy rise, 
And Minster's Abbey greets our eyes. 
What visions now recross my brain 
Of that illustrious buried train. 
Those shadowed walls with locks enfold 
Relics sacred for story told. 
And now to Stratford-on-Avon, 
No honors more on thee, lay on ; 
Thou hast the only Shakespeare give, 
And in his name thou' It ever live. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 99 

Now far across the Northern Sea, 

My Pegasus, ah, wretched me ! 

Began to droop in Lapland drear, 

Where naught was found to give us cheer. 

I saw the Lapps' poor wretched home ; 

His flocks of deer that idly roam 

And patient cull their scanty store. 

O'er Asia's land I flew apace 

Where mosque and chapel cities grace. 

Each rock and vale some story told 

Of chieftain bold or hermit old. 

Jerusalem I eager sought, 

Where Christian bold and Moslem fought 

For victory. Cross and Crescent vied ; 

Each for his cause had bled and died. 

Low-bowed before Mohammed's tomb, 

Were trembling age and youthful bloom. 

Their fruitless faith false hope inspired, 

Mistaken zeal their bosoms fired. 

O'er Araby's plains I sped away. 

Though I would fain prolong my stay. 

Now Egypt, land of mystic lore, 

With keen delight I did explore. 

Here rose the world's stupendous wonder, 

The pyramids. I stood to ponder 

The foolish pride and pomp of kings 

Who wrought these great and wondrous things. 

Here with their virtues and their faults, 

They rest in these colossal vaults. 

Perhaps these huge and ponderous stones 

That cover their illustrious bones. 

Were laid and placed by Israel's sons. 

While laboring these oppressed ones 



THE OLD MANSION 

Enriched the coffers of the state. 
The Isle of Greece I traveled o'er. 
Its legends, myths, of endless store 
Repaid my toil and trouble sore. 
Cloud-capped Olympus proudly stood 
Among the vales of sacred wood. 
Lest Pegasus should from me roam, 
In genial airs should find a home, 
I flew to other sea-girt isles 
Where never-ending summer smiles. 
O'er barren strand or fertile vale 
My Pegasus ne'er did me fail. 



MOTHER. 

A SAINTED mother, from the skies. 
Looks down on me with loving eyes. 
O blessed thought ! that one so dear, 
Should see and dry a falling tear ; 
That she a guardian angel sent, 
My feet from dangers doth prevent ; 
That she is waiting, watching there 
To greet me in that land so fair. 







UBRARY OF CONGRESS 

„ :]!ll!!lllllli 

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